Blood Solace (Blood Grace Book 2) Page 4

  I will not caution you with reminders of what befell Methu. My Trial brother’s memory has been held over you too much already, like the fact that you are bloodborn, as he was. Nor will I speculate as to Nike’s fate. What is worth considering is that among the four of us, only your father found happiness.

  I will visit soon, now that you have all come north. We will talk more then about whatever it is that has riled you.

  —Rudhira

  Lio’s last way out, shut in his face.

  What a way for Rudhira to refuse. He closed the letter with everyone’s affectionate name for him and the promise of an interrogation.

  When Ioustinianos, First Prince of Orthros, Prince Regent of Orthros Abroad and Royal Master of the Charge, could get away from his duties long enough to visit, they would talk? By then talk would be useless, and Cassia would be out of time.

  The Autumn Greeting…legally binding…the wedding will follow…

  The help they needed would not come from Rudhira. Lio was on his own.

  Lio crumpled the letter into his pocket and broke into a run. Monumental trees seemed to fly past him like light. He pushed himself to his limit, then broke past it and pushed toward his next one.

  Weddings and war. Lucis shall order both this Autumn.

  The next limit eluded him, and his body gave out on him far sooner than it should. He stumbled to a halt. He whacked his head on a low branch while reaching blindly in front of him for the nearest tree. The trunk was solid, but the ground swayed under his feet and seemed to want to trade places with the branches overhead.

  …Lady Cassia’s wedding.

  His body felt hot as magefire. He kicked off his shoes, but even the snow was not enough to cool his feet. He struggled out of the constriction of his robes and dropped them at the base of the tree. Night air crept into his tunic without offering relief. The strap of his scroll case threatened to choke him, but that he would not take off.

  He had to decide on a course of action. The Autumn Greeting was tomorrow. He had to start thinking now, and quickly.

  Lio blinked and rubbed his eyes, but blinding white moonlight flared between the sharp black fingers of bare branches. The red berries on a nearby holly appeared lucent to his dilated eyes.

  He could not make any decisions in this state. He would have to drink again. For the third time tonight. At this rate, he doubted he could make it all the hours until Slumber without another drink after that. Hespera’s Mercy, he would have to begin drinking four times a night. Nausea gripped him anew at the mere thought of more deer blood. But his hollow belly needed the very thing that sickened it.

  He forced his reluctant body to walk. Best not use his power to cover the distance this time. No telling where he might end up if he tried to step right now. Ha. Tenebra. He would accidentally aim for Tenebra and wreck himself against the Queens’ ward that blocked the border.

  At last the forest gave way to the open grounds beyond. Lio halted in a field of snow and braced his hands on his knees.

  He meant to send out a friendly invitation, but his mind barked a summons. The snow moved. A wave of white swept across the field toward him, parted around him, then stilled all at once.

  The entire herd of boreian deer stood around him. Their thick white coats made them appear part of the snow, but their bodies gave off warmth, life force any Hesperine could sense. They were living beings, and they stood frozen before him, eyes wide, as if before a hunter.

  Lio let out a string of hoarse curses. He rubbed his face in both hands. Dampness met his fingers. Lowering his hands, he stared down at them and saw the clear liquid of tears.

  He stood in the snow and wept with shame.

  When Hesperines spoke of Grace, they waxed poetic about perfect partnership, eternal companionship and unending pleasure. They advised young Graces on how to get through the eight nights of their Ritual separation required before their avowal, when they would profess their bond before Hespera and their people.

  None of the pretty things they said had prepared Lio for the reality of living with the Craving.

  Eight nights over and over again. An eon in half a year. But the suffering itself was his one assurance it would end. His addiction to Cassia’s blood was proof she really was his Grace and they were meant to remain together. The Goddess wanted them for each other. There must be a future in which they were not apart.

  To enjoy that future, he had to live to see it. He had to survive withdrawal from Cassia’s blood. It took all the Will he possessed to cope with the phases of heat and chills and bouts of shaking, nausea and dizziness. He had managed to stay on his feet each time he had nearly fainted and to keep his drinks down until he was alone, but that wouldn’t last much longer if the headaches kept getting worse.

  Then there were his emotions, which seemed to have taken on a life of their own and constantly threatened to make those he loved pay for his misery in spite of him. Moment by moment, he must choose to think, to force words out of his mouth, to put one foot in front of the other in spite of thirst that could not be sated if he glutted himself on every deer in Orthros.

  One night the Craving would break him. His strength would fail him, and he would no longer be able to protect any of them. His parents. Zoe.

  Cassia.

  No, he was not to that point yet. There was still time. He might yet manage not to fail her.

  Lio bent his own mind to his command. He heard one hoof crunch in the snow, then four of them, then many. He mastered himself until the warmth of another body near him told him only one deer remained. Fur brushed the back of his hand, and a pair of leathery lips mouthed his knuckles.

  He huffed a pained laugh and lowered his hands. One of the does peered at him with a big blue eye. His vision swam, and he saw three eyes that looked like dancing spell lights. But he managed to keep his hand steady and rested it, ever so slowly, on her forehead. She did not shy away. He sat down hard on the snow, and she folded her legs gracefully to lay before him without apparent concern.

  But he could never truly know when he would lose control again.

  Training

  Once his head was clearer and the third deer he called to him walked away on steady feet, Lio stood and turned his back on the bloodstained snow.

  No amount of running would cool him tonight, nor provide him the clarity of thought he needed to decide how best to help Cassia against the looming threat of Flavian. Lio strode back through the Orchard, pausing only to retrieve his robes. He needed to get in the training ring.

  He had never cared much for the arts of battle. While his cousins and Lyros loved to challenge body against body in the ring, Lio had always been more interested in studying how people pitted their opinions and beliefs, needs and goals against one another. The solitary pursuit of running had provided all the athletics his body required and the time for meditation his mind needed. But since the Craving had consumed him, nothing short of sparring was enough to discipline his body, and only the utter concentration the battle arts demanded could truly order his mind.

  The Orchard was a long walk from the athletics district. To spare physical energy for his training session, Lio decided not to go all the way to Stewards’ Ward on foot. Instead, he took a chance and used his power to step there, right into Hippolyta’s Gymnasium. The Drink had bought him some time; he arrived only slightly off from where he intended in the corridor behind the baths. The small steam rooms afforded welcome privacy before and after a match. He ducked inside one to compose himself.

  It was frigid, the taps cold and dry as the athletes had left them last season. He welcomed the chill more than he would have the warmth that would infuse the complex once the geomagi got around to summoning the heat. Lio wrapped his robes securely around Cassia’s charm and the scroll case that protected his list, then stowed his things on a bench in the corner.

  He secured his hair out of his way with his speires. The simple cloth ties still made Lio proud every time he used them. Every Hesperine who
studied with Aunt Lyta received the symbolic hair ties as a gift from her the first time they entered the ring, and every member of the Stand and the Prince’s Charge wore them throughout their careers. In his speires and the practical, undyed cotton tunic that served as the uniform for training, Lio felt ready to show his face outside the bath.

  He did not sense Aunt Lyta or Kadi. Satisfied the legendary Guardian of Orthros and her second-in-command would not be present to witness any humiliation he might suffer, Lio headed along the deserted hall. It appeared Aunt Lyta and Kadi, like Uncle Argyros, were eager to stay at home and spend time with the children. Lio knew how much the two newest members of Blood Argyros meant to everyone. Kadi and Javed’s sucklings were a powerful balm for the old wound of Nike’s absence.

  After a round in the ring, Lio would be bound for home as well. Home and Zoe. He smiled for the first time in hours, in fact the first time since he had left her at the house. He had much more than just a list and a charm. He had Zoe.

  Lio came out on the lowest level of stone benches that ringed the bowl of the gymnasium. The barest hints of sound echoed off the ranks of empty seats. The heaps of snow on the outside of the glass rotunda reflected spell light onto the hard pack of snow that covered the carefully maintained floor. The expansive structure had long served Hesperine athletes, but also Hippolyta’s Stand, the Stewards of the Queens’ ward, who kept the battle arts alive in a kingdom devoted to peace.

  The Queens’ power ruled out any possibility of mortals, even mages, trespassing in Orthros. It was no surprise hardly any Hesperines felt motivated to become trained fighters, and those few who did left to join the Prince’s Charge, for it was Abroad where Hesperines were embattled. But lately Lio had worried as never before that the Stand might not be a sufficient patrol for the border, even as protected as it was. What if there weren’t enough Stewards to help anyone trying to cross to safety in Orthros?

  There were others like Lio who pursued some measure of training for well-being or self-defense, but they could not compare to those in service under Aunt Lyta’s command. In Nike’s absence, Kadi was the only Master Steward left in the Stand. The fighters Aunt Lyta mentored with her younger daughter’s assistance were the future of her Stand and Hesperine fighting techniques. Lio watched all two of them wrestle below.

  The pair of combatants who now occupied the ring had taken over the Guardian of Orthros’s command while she and Master Steward Arkadia had escorted Silvertongue’s embassy to Tenebra.

  Without hesitation, these two young Hesperines had assumed total responsibility for resolving any trouble along the border for the duration of the Equinox Summit, when Hesperine and human relations had strained to the breaking point.

  With great courage, they had dared hike to the top of Wisdom’s Precipice with Lio when they were all newbloods and with great eagerness, they had jumped off with him in the hopes of forcing their instinct for levitation to manifest.

  With great remorse, they had all cursed and convalesced together in the Healing Sanctuary afterward.

  Mak and Lyros were a blur before Lio’s eyes, but he didn’t need sight to recognize his two dearest friends. Almost nine decades of growing up together and undergoing the Trial of Initiation with one another had a way of strengthening his Blood Union with them, to say the least. He could trust them with nearly any confidence, including the fact that he was a wreck tonight. If he made a fool of himself during this training session, they would laugh with him, then peel his broken face off the ground and carry him to the healers themselves.

  Lio studied the match, paying attention to techniques he didn’t yet know or still couldn’t manage with competence. Occasionally a smudge of brown, Mak’s hair, indicated his position. A sweep of darker hair showed what Lyros was up to. But sound and temperature told Lio the most about each move the fighters attempted against one another. He heard a foot touch the snow pack; a rush of cool air told him a body had changed position.

  Lio’s cousin came into view for an instant; he caught a glimpse of Mak twisting his large body in a sudden, graceful move. But Mak’s most beloved opponent was faster still. Lyros was leaner, slightly shorter, and no less powerful. He darted out of reach and became visible when he landed on his feet. Lio’s friend hadn’t even levitated, for magic was forbidden in the ring. Lyros’s dance on the snow was pure agility.

  Lio didn’t see either of his Trial brothers again until Mak appeared flat on his back on the ground. Lyros stood, nothing disturbing his stillness, his pale face taut in an expression of utter concentration. His foot was poised on Mak’s breastbone, perfectly positioned to apply destructive pressure to crucial bones. Mak lifted his hand in the traditional gesture of respect toward the victor.

  Lyros’s mouth curved into a slow smile. “I win.”

  Mak propped his hands behind his head, his fair complexion ruddy from the match. He gazed up at his Grace. “Victor names the prize.”

  “I’ll collect…later.” Lyros straightened, his aura full of mischief, and offered Lio a bow. “Here to see me flatten your cousin again?”

  Lio eyed Lyros’s foot, which had not moved. “He is clearly at your mercy. I still don’t know how either of you ever manages to best the other. You know all each other’s strategies by now.”

  “Good moon, Lio. You’re late.” Mak waved a hand from the ground, smiling cheerfully. “Move that foot, Lyros, or I’ll be forced to use my most secret and effective strategy—”

  “Shut up.” Lyros moved off and offered Mak a hand.

  Lio suppressed a snicker. Since they were sucklings, everyone had known Lyros’s feet were ticklish. He had never grown out of it, if Mak’s jests were to be believed.

  Mak sprang to his feet without assistance, then took Lyros’s hand anyway, tugging his Grace a little closer to him. In the years since the two of them had started sharing, and especially in the months since their avowal, Lio had learned to weather these moments of envy and forgive himself for them. There was not a Hesperine their age who did not wish for what Mak and Lyros had found in each other so early, nor were there any among them who did not rejoice with their whole hearts for their fortunate friends. Lio was no different. It was just harder now that he knew who his Grace was.

  His Grace. Lio had found her, and not even a century into his existence. He was not to endure his father’s fate and wait fifteen hundred years for her. He would never face the doubt Rudhira lived with every night that made him question why the Goddess had not yet bestowed Grace upon him, one of the most ancient Hesperines in existence, the eldest prince of her treasured people.

  No, Lio would stay here trapped in Orthros while Cassia faced one of her two worst fears becoming reality. A marriage to the man of her father’s choosing. Or a death like her sister’s.

  Lio vaulted over the railing without the aid of magic and landed in the ring. Over my dead body, Flavian, he promised. And I am immortal.

  Mak raised his brows. “Lio is not here to play.”

  “I can see that.” Lyros studied Lio. “You all right?”

  “No, but it’s nothing an hour of hard training won’t fix.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Mak released Lyros’s hand and ran through a quick stretch. “What’ll it be? One against one? Three-warrior free-for-all?”

  “Two against one,” Lio requested.

  Mak grinned. “Challenge accepted.”

  “Nonsense. He’s challenging the victor.” Lyros smiled smugly. “Allow me to lay waste to both of you.”

  Lio shook his head. “Both of you, against me.”

  Mak just laughed.

  “Try me,” Lio insisted.

  “Uh, Lio…” Lyros hesitated, clearly choosing his words with care. “That is not part of the training program at this stage.”

  Mak clarified, “The night you started training with us, Mother made us promise we wouldn’t break you into little pieces.”

  “How kind of you. Please keep your promise for Zoe’s sake. Now let’s go. Two again
st one.”

  They glanced at each other in one of their silent exchanges. Their expressions told Lio they had decided to humor him. Lio could barely hear Mak mutter, “Overachiever.”

  Mak and Lyros took their positions opposite Lio, and all three of them bowed. Then Lio eased his body into a relaxed, ready stance, crouching slightly. He knew he would lose. He suspected it would hurt. So be it.

  Suddenly only Mak stood before Lio. For a disorienting instant, Lio was aware of Lyros somewhere behind him, precise position unknown. Lio shut his eyes and fell left into a dodge as Lyros swept in from his right-hand blind spot. Veiled Warrior.

  The scent of cloves and the warmth of another body told Lio that Mak was a hair’s breadth away from tackling him. Moon Warrior.

  They were being obvious. He slid to the side and felt Mak sweep past him. Lio knew he moved right into Lyros’s reach, as the two had planned, but he positioned his body correctly. When Lyros tried a Mortal Vice, Lio was ready.

  Lyros landed on the snow with a satisfying thump, and Lio crouched, letting Mak attempt a Dawn’s Grasp. Lio allowed Mak’s weight to propel him and tossed his broader cousin over his head for an even louder landing.

  “Well, Mak, I think we should congratulate ourselves.” By the time the sound of Lyros’s voice indicated his position, he was somewhere else.

  “I’ll say. We’ll turn this soft diplomat into a fighter yet.”

  “Soft?” Lio glanced around him to see if his eyes gave him any information. “Say that again.”

  Mak’s laughter echoed off the stands, and the sound reverberated in Lio’s sensitive ears. Magic might be against the rules, but every Hesperine brought enhanced senses into the ring as an advantage—or a weakness, or a weapon.

  “Someone brought his temper with him to the match tonight.” Mak’s taunt made its own echo.